


while you see it your way

by irnan



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irnan/pseuds/irnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Damian acts his age for once, and - to the astonishment of absolutely no one - it's all Bruce's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	while you see it your way

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Beatles. The author feels compelled to add that despite what Damian thinks, poor Detective Gage deserves none of the scorn the youngest Bat is inclined to heap upon his head.

“This Nick Gage that Jim mentioned the other day,” said Father. “Who _is_ he?”

It was a completely superfluous question. Damian was sitting on the sideboard behind Father’s chair and had a full and unobstructed view of Father’s computer screen: he was already hacking the GCPD files and reading up on Detective Nicholas Gage.

“I understand he and Miss Barbara have – stepped out, as the expression goes,” said Pennyworth. “He’s on the force. Miss Stephanie has worked with him a time or two.”

“Hmmph,” said Father, sounding disgruntled. (Not that Father had ever, in Damian’s limited experience of him, sounded particularly… gruntled. Was that a word? On second thoughts, Damian suspected not.) “So he’s an _inferior knockoff_.”

“Inferior knockoff of what?” said Damian.

“Of Dick,” said Father, and shut the computer with a sharp gesture.

“I don’t understand,” said Damian.

“Master Dick and Miss Barbara used to be in a romantic relationship,” Pennyworth explained.

Father muttered something that sounded like _they still should be._

“He’s certainly shown no inclination to be happy with anyone else since,” said Pennyworth.

“Pointless waste of time,” said Damian, and went back to Themistocles. But the conversation – and the implications of it – wouldn’t leave him alone; he found himself worrying over it at odd moments, and watching both Gordon and Grayson out of the corner of his eye. Used to be in a romantic relationship, did they? It wasn’t apparent to Damian. In his experience, two people in a state of ‘used to be in a romantic relationship’ did a lot more yelling. There were also, as far as he could tell, no ninjas involved, which appeared equally unusual to Damian. After all, it wasn’t as if Gordon and Grayson couldn’t get access to some if they needed to.

The whole thing seemed… off. Damian took to scrutinising Grayson as closely as he dared while they were in Gordon’s company, and Gordon herself as well, of course. It was difficult to tell what either of them were thinking at the best of times. Grayson cultivated that impenetrable façade of obnoxious cheer, and Gordon had a stare that could curdle milk when she wanted it to.

But several weeks later, Damian had come to several conclusions. Firstly, they both enjoyed one another’s company very much. Grayson’s smiles became brighter in Gordon’s presence (much as they did in the company of That Imposter Drake, or Cain, or Father, come to think of it). Gordon was also always happy to see him. Their conversation flowed easily and naturally and they had nicknames for one another, which according to Pennyworth was a sign of appreciation and affection, not an attempt to humiliate.

Damian had had little opportunity as yet to observe the mechanisms of flirtation in real life, but if the TV was anything to go by, Grayson and Gordon were experts at it. Particularly with each other.

Secondly, their obvious trust and friendship was clearly the factor that had provided a solid foundation for their romantic relationship, and had probably prevented the involvement of ninjas. Damian saw no reason why this should not hold true the second time around.

Thirdly, if Barbara Gordon truly preferred the company of that milksop Detective Gage over Dick Grayson, she was plainly irrational, possibly even mentally ill. This was a state of mind which could and would be tolerated in any number of people, such as Batgirl or That Imposter Drake, but never in the Oracle.

Fourthly, leaving her made Grayson miserable. This had become increasingly apparent by the end of the fourth week of Damian’s observations, when for some reason their flirtation had become… oddly stilted.

Damian had no opportunity to verify whether or not Grayson’s departure made Gordon miserable as well, but he certainly hoped so. Grayson had this look – it wasn’t quite what Brown had meant when she’d said a character on the TV had the look of a kicked puppy – in point of fact, it was infinitely worse. Kicked puppies simply looked miserable, and whoever made them so fully deserved to die at the hands of the Joker, in Damian’s opinion. Grayson never ‘simply’ looked miserable. That infernal cheerful smile he habitually hiked on drove Damian absolutely mad: as if this was the hand that life had dealt him, and such being the case, it was his (Grayson’s) job to get on with it and make the most of things, no matter how miserable he was.

It was horrific. Damian objected, strenuously, to the notion of making the most of things. It ran counter to all his most deeply-held beliefs. In Damian’s experience, if you shouted at the universe for long enough, it usually gave you what you wanted: your home, your brother, the Robin mantle, your Father. (Twice!)

Grayson must be brought to see this. It was the only way to wipe that look off his face. The more Damian thought about it, the more it appalled him – and the more often he recalled seeing it. After that Black Mirror business when Gordon had nearly been killed by her own brother, Batgirl had spent several days patrolling with red, puffy eyes, and Grayson had not patrolled at all, preferring to spend the time in the hospital, or very close by. Looking back on it now, Damian easily saw how anxious the man had been. His body language had been tense and upset as a wet cat. His mouth had never stopped trying to smile.

Always, always, that desperate shot at being… _optimistic_.

“It’s not a curse word,” said Black Bat, amused.

“Naturally not,” Damian muttered. “But _why_ , that’s what I want to know, _why_ does he do it?”

“What?”

“Pretend it doesn’t matter when it does!”

“I don’t think he’s ever… pretended it doesn’t matter.”

Damian flapped his hand at her. “Semantics,” he growled.

She shrugged. He thought she probably didn’t really grasp the concept of semantics. He could understand why. Bodies were much, much easier than actual people.

“It’s… about coping.”

“Making believe he’s happy when he’s not!”

Black Bat stopped halfway across the rooftop and levelled one clawed finger at his face. Damian stepped back from it. “Worked on you,” she said.

Damian’s jaw dropped. “An unfounded accusation!”

“Did you think,” she asked, sounding acid, “that he liked it when B was gone?”

“I – no, of course not!”

“Because you acted… like you did. Going around ignoring him all the time. Running off. Like it was all… some big game.”

Damian’s jaw worked indignantly.

“Think about it,” said Black Bat. “Maybe it’s not always…just about _him_ coping. But about _us_ coping too.”

Damian thought that was rubbish, and would have told her so if she hadn’t dropped off the other side of the building by the time he’d got his voice back.

He snooped into the computers afterwards and found the logs for Batman’s whereabouts over the last couple of weeks. There were at least two visits to Gordon that Damian had not been present for. And maybe more during the day. Had that appalling look become more frequent in recent days, or was it just that Damian had finally had the wits to notice it?

He didn’t go looking for Batgirl for advice, per se, so much as… confirmation. She was closer to Gordon than any of them at the moment. He’d already wasted nearly two months dithering about this. He couldn’t afford to waste more time.

“… know what’s going on there, but the omniscient Oracle is _gettin’ some_ ,” Brown was saying.

Damian froze before he left the corridor and came out into the Cave proper where Batgirl could see him.

“Hmm?” said Drake’s voice. “Oh, did she give it another shot with that detective?”

“Oh!” said Brown. “Uh, hmm. Actually, I think –”

This was an untenable state of affairs. Damian marched back upstairs indignantly. Clearly he had completely lost control of the situation – everything was slipping through his fingers – no sooner had he decided that he _owed_ it to Grayson to ensure Gordon made him happy than the dreadful woman went off with that inferior knockoff.

And he _was_ an inferior knockoff, Father had been quite right. Damian could see it quite clearly, down to their superficial physical resemblance – dark hair, light eyes – to Gage’s questionable detective skills to his no doubt non-existent prowess on the battlefield. The man probably didn’t even have a sense of humour. He almost certainly couldn’t turn a cartwheel, let alone fly the way Grayson did. He’d definitely never skydived even _without_ breaking any world records.

No, Nicholas Gage was sub-standard in every way. Gordon had to be made to see it before it was too late and there were ninjas after all.

Halfway up the stairs in the Manor, Damian brought himself to a halt. He’d been heading for a telephone in order to contact Grayson, he realised.

Well, he couldn’t call the man and ask his advice on how he, Damian, should attempt to solve his, Grayson’s, romantic problems. If Grayson knew how to make Gordon see he was the superior choice, she presumably wouldn’t be off _getting some_ with Gage.

Or maybe he did know, and was deliberately refusing to do anything, because of that – that martyr business. Yes, martyr. Damian had found the perfect word for it. It was unconscionable. They enjoyed one another’s company, had known each other for years, would never hurt each other, there was no danger of ninjas; and yet. Ridiculous. Damian couldn’t permit it to go on for another second.

The trouble was, what to do about it?

He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned the problem over in his mind. Grayson and Gordon had been Robin and Batgirl together; they knew each other best of any of them, and the only people in Gotham who’d known them both from the start…

The answer was so obvious Damian wasn’t sure why it had taken him so long to get it. If Grayson wasn’t available, the logical person to turn to was Pennyworth.

And as it was a matter of Grayson’s welfare, Father would surely also be interested.

The best time to catch them both together was in the mornings, when Pennyworth took Father’s breakfast in to him. Damian slouched in Pennyworth’s wake the next day, waiting for him to enter Father’s room, and once he heard the _woosh_ of the heavy curtains being drawn back, he burst in after him and took up position on the bed, planting his hands on his hips. He absolutely did not give any sort of bounce whatsoever, no matter how bounce-able the mattress actually was.

“Father, wake up,” he said. “This is an emergency.”

“Wha – what?”

Father immediately after waking was a less impressive vision than the Batman by far. The man’s hair was a tousled mess, and he was blinking up at Damian owlishly.

“It’s about Gordon,” Damian explained to them both. Father’s eyes sharpened. “I’ve made my observations, and she’s behaving so illogically that the only conclusion is that she’s completely deluded, it can’t possibly go on. You were quite right. That man Gage is entirely inadequate. She’s clearly incapable of rational thought if she prefers him to Grayson. _Something must be done_.”

Father’s jaw dropped. “Damian –“ said Father.

“Oh, dear,” said Pennyworth.

“You said it yourself, he’s an inferior knockoff! Superficial similarities aside, Grayson’s abilities are clearly superior in every way, and – Father?”

For Father had fallen back against the pillows and, in fact, pulled one over his face; his shoulders were shaking ever so slightly. Damian was momentarily wrong-footed, but then he understood.

Father was laughing.

He’d made Father laugh.

He, Damian Wayne, had made Batman laugh, the way Grayson and That Imposter Drake and Cain all regularly managed to. (Sometimes Damian had had the sense that even _Todd_ had been able to make Father laugh.)

He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his shoulders back, a little. “Well?” he said.

“Damian,” said Father, and threw the pillow away. He made another attempt at sitting up; it became apparent that he wasn’t managing it because Damian was standing on the edge of the covers flung across his chest. Father scrambled to an upright position and paused there for a second. He had more stubble than Grayson usually did in the mornings, and his eyes were glinting with amusement. “Damian, I applaud your desire to help Dick in his, uh, his romantic entanglements –“

“You mean you won’t do anything,” said Damian, disappointed. He looked to Pennyworth, but Pennyworth simply straightened the curtains and looked back expressionlessly.

Father bit his lower lip. Then he said, “Come and sit down.”

Damian hesitated. Father pointed, imperiously, at the mattress by his side. Damian sank down, cross-legged. After another hesitation, Father said, “It’s not always about what’s rational, you know.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” said Damian, nettled. “I’m not a fool or a child, Father, if there was any question of it being entirely a rational matter there never would’ve been any need for the ninjas at all.”

Father blinked. Damian realised he’d said rather more than he’d meant to and fought down a blush; better to glare it out.

Father said, “… yes. I mean – people’s preferences aren’t rational.”

Damian carried on glaring. He knew this. He knew it perfectly well. Preferences weren’t rational and romantic relationships fell apart despite this being an objectively illogical outcome and objectively illogical relationships worked when others didn’t; it had taken Damian less than a month in Gotham to concede all these points.

“You can’t… hand someone a list of pros and cons and inform them that the math says they should like this person over the other,” Father went on. His voice was noticeably gentler. He still wasn’t saying anything Damian didn’t already know. “And people resent it when you try.”

Damian bit his lip. This was all very well and good and well-trodden ground that Damian had covered in the past and understood perfectly well and was, furthermore, completely and utterly beside the point, which was quite simply that he couldn’t help but feel that once, just _once_ … rational should win out.

Just for once.

He didn’t understand why the universe was apparently happy to supply him with everything else he wanted, except that. There was, of course, the possibility that even the universe was incapable of budging Father (and Grayson) once they’d made up their minds on a matter, but Damian felt that this was a whinging, unworthy sort of excuse from a universe that had, after all, been effective enough to bring his Father back from the dead. (In a manner of speaking.)

Damian was not fond of the prospect of needing to more closely scrutinise the tangle of _feelings_ this venture was provoking in him. Therefore, as was his wont, he decided to ignore it. The point was that Grayson could not be permitted to wander around the city wearing that appallingly unhappy look for another day, and Gordon must be persuaded that it was her place to prevent it, because it was. _Forever_.

“Of course they resent it when _I_ try,” he said, deliberately and ruthlessly misunderstanding Father’s point. “I’m ten. That’s why I’m speaking to _you_.”

Father looked at Pennyworth helplessly. Pennyworth said, “I suspect that would merely make it worse, Master Damian.”

“Illogical,” said Damian.

“It’s… really not my place to tell my children who to love,” said Father.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Grandfather doesn’t have any problems with it,” he pointed out. “Hence, my existence!”

Father shut his mouth with an audible snap. “It was, uh, well, more complicated than that,” he said.

“Rubbish,” said Damian.

“I’m sorry, Damian,” Father said quietly. “I understand you want Dick to be happy, but…” He spread his hands helplessly and shook his head. Damian continued to glare at him. Father’s gaze was very calm and direct. Damian couldn’t meet it for long: there was something hot gathering behind his eyes and in his throat.

This was unacceptable.

Pennyworth said quietly, “Another breakfast tray for Master Damian, I believe.”

“That shan’t be necessary, Pennyworth,” said Damian, as crisply as Pennyworth himself ever had. “I shall simply –“

“I’d like it if you’d eat with me,” said Father.

Damian twisted his hands into the covers for less than three seconds. “Very well,” he said.

Father smiled at him. Damian almost felt sorry for him. Grayson had never been this gullible. He would’ve known at a glance that Damian had no intention of letting this go.

Fortunately Damian had his back to Pennyworth the whole time.

The trouble, of course, was what tactic to employ now that Father’s intercession as the rational authority figure was no longer an option. Damian let the question percolate while he and Father ate together and watched the morning news – it was a surprisingly pleasant way to begin a day, and he made Father laugh _twice_ _more_ – and by noon, he had come to an unpleasant conclusion.

Brown had been right in that, upon reflection, Gordon had indeed been acting more cheerful – almost happy – in recent days. And, come to think of it, when was the last time he’d seen Grayson outside of patrol? _Obviously_ the man was moping. First they had gone all stilted and awkward, and now this. He had to get rid of that man Gage as soon as possible.

Damian was convinced that desperate times were upon him. Therefore, desperate measures were justified.

“You want to what?” said Drake.

Damian did not lower himself to repeat his words.

“Uh, wow,” said Drake. They paused there while he shuffled aside the pile of WE papers on his kitchen table and, presumably, collected what few scattered thoughts were capable of surviving in the sparse landscape of what passed for Drake’s mind.

“OK,” said Drake. “Damian, the thing is –“

“That’s not how it works?” Damian offered.

“Well. Yeah. I mean.”

“You mean _what_?”

“I mean you can’t order someone to be happy with someone.”

“Of course not!” said Damian, flinging his hands up. “That’s not what I’m suggesting! Father took it this way as well. I’m suggesting that someone needs to point out to them both that they are each by far the most rational choice for one another, and that if they both just sat down and worked at it instead of reaching for the ninjas every single bloody time –“

“Oh, kid,” said Drake helplessly, and then looked surprised at himself.

Damian stared at him.

“You wanna know what I think?”

Drake sounded almost gentle. That, Damian decided, was even _worse_ than trying to face up to _feelings_.

“ _No_ ,” he snapped.

“I think you want to matchmake your surrogate Dad with someone you approve of because your actual Mom and Dad have made it so clear that they’re not ever getting back together.”

Damian jumped to his feet. “I _told_ you I _didn’t want to hear it_!” he bellowed.

Drake just kept looking at him, almost as if he thought he understood. “I think talking to Bruce about this would probably help a lot more than worrying over Dick’s love life,” he said, still so achingly gentle and quiet and Damian could see, in that moment, why Grayson and Father and the Titans and everyone seemed to love him so much, which only served to make him angrier.

“When was the last time _you_ managed to hold a meaningful conversation with him?” Damian spat, and then he was out of the kitchen and running. He didn’t think Drake tried to follow him, but he made sure to avoid all of his siblings and their father and came rather dangerously close to the edges of Todd’s territory in his efforts to take his fury out on several unfortunate criminals; he wouldn’t even have minded picking a fight with Todd himself, but despite Damian’s best efforts at making an ungodly noise and picking all the mostly unnecessary fights he could, the man never turned up.

Finally it was nearly dawn, and all that was really left in him was grief.

It wasn’t fair. It _wasn’t_. But just because it wasn’t fair for him didn’t mean it couldn’t be fair for Grayson.

Or something. Damian hadn’t given up yet. There was one last thing he had to try. If that didn’t work he would… he didn’t know what he’d do. But he suspected he would never look at the universe in quite the same way again.

It had to work. _It had to_. Damian would accept no other outcome. (Damian was well and truly fed up of accepting the other outcome.)

It had started raining when he crawled through Gordon’s window. She was in her kitchen, which made for a theme. Damian stomped up to her, glaring. She looked at him over the top of her glasses, completely unruffled by his invasion of her home at five in the morning when she was wearing a top and knickers and nothing else. He was relatively certain that the bruise on her left collarbone was actually a hickey.

“Morning, Robin,” she said, almost as if she’d been expecting him.

“You’re a fool and I don’t understand why you do it,” he burst out. “It’s irrational, it’s illogical, it’s making everyone miserable, except I assume that insipid weakling Gage, who is clearly punching well above his weight,  and I don’t understand why you persist in pretending that –“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Gage?” said Gordon. “Nick Gage?”

“How many other Gages are you dating?” Damian demanded.

She laughed sharply, clearly trying hard to rein it in. Maybe the bastard was still in the tower? If he was, Damian might be able to get a decent hit in before she threw him out. The prospect was not unpleasant. “I’m not dating any Gages!”

“Oh, really! Because Brown said –“

“I doubt that,” said Gordon dryly. “I doubt that very, very much. Seeing as Steph is dating him herself.”

Damian’s jaw hung open.

Well.

That was.

But hadn’t Brown said…

No, she hadn’t. She’d said Gordon was going out with someone. In fact, she’d very deliberately not answered at all when That Imposter Drake had assumed Gordon was dating the detective, hadn’t she?

Well, this would be a lesson to him. Never stop at eavesdropping on part of a conversation; always stay for the whole thing. He could hear it in Pennyworth’s voice already.

“But,” Damian sputtered. “But then who –“

“Hey, I… thought I heard voices,” Grayson said from the doorway. “Damian! You’re up early. Or out late. Or both. What brings you over here?”

Damian stared at him. Grayson didn’t seem embarrassed or even surprised to see him. He was smiling a little, leaning shirtless and barefoot against the doorjamb, and if Gordon’s fingernails hadn’t made those thin red marks along his upper right arm Damian was a Kryptonian superdog.

He could feel himself going red. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that she had the grace not to smile.

“Nothing,” he said. “I mean. Nothing. I was just.” He looked from Gordon to Grayson and back. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Pathetic.

“Father was worried,” he tacked on.

It fooled no one.

“Tell you what,” said Grayson. “We’ll let him patrol this evening. Order pizza. Watch a movie.”

Damian sniffed. “If you insist,” he said.

Now Gordon smiled. He supposed he couldn’t grudge her that.

“Go home and get some sleep, Dami,” said his brother gently. “Eh? I wanted to catch you alone some time and tell you first” – his blue eyes slid to Gordon and lit up in a way that made Damian want to gag – “but I guess you beat me to it.” He leaned over and ruffled Damian’s hair; Damian pushed him off a minute too late.

“I’ll see you this evening, then,” he said.

“Hmm.”

He slid past Grayson and faced Gordon again. She arched an eyebrow, waiting.

“Sorry,” he said. “For.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” she said. Judging by her smile, she meant it.

Damian puzzled over that the whole way home. In the end he decided it was a sign of sorts; he’d yelled at the universe for long enough, and it had given him…

It hadn’t given him what he wanted, because what he wanted was for his mother and father to have the kind of relationship that never descended into ninja-territory. But it had given him what he wanted for Grayson, which… as consolation prizes went, wasn’t bad at all.

Father was still in bed; Damian stripped off his costume and changed into his pyjamas and followed Pennyworth in.

The curtains _wooshed_ , and the bedframe creaked under Damian’s jump.

“Gah,” said Father. Damian levered himself up off the mattress a bit and let himself bounce again.

“Mission accomplished,” he announced.

“Congratulations,” Father grated. “Pass the coffee and _stop bouncing_.”

Damian grinned. “Shan’t,” he said, the way he’d used to with Mother when he was very small. “Pennyworth, may I have another breakfast tray?”

“Certainly, Master Damian,” said Pennyworth.

“You’re obnoxiously cheerful,” said Father, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he sat up. “What’s accomplished?”

Damian yawned. “Grayson and Gordon have resumed their romantic relationship,” he said. “I didn’t even have to do a thing.”

“Ahh,” said Father, and hid a smile. “I thought Dick seemed different, the last couple days.”

“I didn’t,” said Damian.

“I think you had other things on your mind,” said Father.

“It’s not fair that the first thing you do when you get back is pack everything up and go off again with Selina Kyle,” said Damian. He was too tired to be anything but blunt, and it was very nice, being propped up against the pillows and Father’s shoulder like this, letting his eyes close and his body relax.

“No, it wasn’t,” said Father. “I’m sorry for that.”

He moved his arm and laid it along the pillows at Damian’s back; Damian thought he was reaching for something, but then he just left it there, lying warm against Damian’s shoulders. He decided it wasn’t his place to tell Father what to do with his arm.

“What am I going to do with you,” said Father. A hand brushed at his hair. “Matchmaking two people who were already in love.”

“That was the point,” Damian said sleepily.

“Hmm. Yes.”

“I’m still angry,” Damian added.

“That’s all right,” said Father. “Tim was right. I deserve it.”

“Drake said that?”

“Several times.” If Damian could’ve opened his eyes, he thought he’d see Father smiling. “He had a variety of remarks to make, and most of them were… pointed, to say the least.” He brushed at Damian’s hair again. “I hope it’s not too late to try and make it up to you.”

Damian sighed. Even half-asleep he did so hate to admit defeat. “I suppose,” he said, “he’s not _completely_ useless.” Drake's intervention was unexpected, but, on the whole, not unwelcome. Now, if only Mother... She liked Todd, didn't she? Hmm.

“Not completely, no,” said Father, teasing.

“I have to tell Cain,” he said, rallying again.

“She can come by later.”

“All right.” Damian yawned again, so hugely he thought he might have dislocated his own jaw; he slid a little down the bed and closed his eyes, and –

Slept.


End file.
